Vicissitudes
by Airrei
Summary: Might be IzayaxOC: Make them trust you and make them fall. Be betrayed and take revenge. But the last thing you know, you're all alone. Oh, humans are so interesting. Love them. Love them so much. So much that they should /break/.


Disclaimer: I don't own Durarara. (sadface)

Hi. I know I should be finishing the other story too, but I decided to load this before my mind killed it off.

-**Note-** This story has no apparent pairing. I'm sort of trying for an IzayaxOC, but in my mind it's not really on that track. More like practicing writing Izaya and his usual people torture that hit a little bit closer to home. If you do not like OCs I understand. If you do not like my OC, I also understand. If you still want to read, I hope you enjoy.

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Chapter 1.

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Like the illusion of the golden orb, wavering, wavering… as the clouds would glide steadily, guided by the winds above. When there was no need to observe, from our minds the gentle gathering of water vapor disappears at night replaced by flashing lights of the neon street, and nothing idealistic like stars.

At the center of the bustling street, leaning against a windowpane, was a man of observation. Despite that fact, he was doing anything but; the cell phone being tapped rapidly confirmed this. His other hand tapped lightly at his knee, even though there was no music to keep a beat to. The man's short, scruffy locks were the color of night itself, the sleek black reflecting dark imitations of the sleepless city. In his crimson eyes, the yellow-white gleam of his screen mirrored. Gradually, he flipped his phone closed, back into his pocket and hopped over to some circular bench around a decorative tree and paced on it, his hands unnecessarily stretched out keeping a sort of balance.

Next one… and then another, his eyes would scan. Out of hundreds of people crossing his line of vision, which ones could he possibly identify? Claiming he loved them all and how they were interesting, perhaps it was only the ones he successfully manipulated that he was able to look at more carefully. The sea of people would not stop in their tracks. Even then, after toying with them, he wouldn't be bothered to remember each and every one of them. He stopped in his tracks to skip downward, placing a hand against his forehead, above his eyes.

His indifferent face distorted into a spontaneous smile. Oh, but how he loved them. Their blank look, unsuspecting any danger upon themselves as if their everyday lives would continue forever. The pain and misery each one should understand in their own feeble minded way, the love they cultivated for another, and unrequited hope that tomorrow would be any different from today. That's why…it's so much fun to reply to their expectations. To see the horror in their eyes when they realized that they should never have left their lives in someone else's hands…or the opposite, to feel that it's a good time to end everything by making their last excuses that it was all someone else's fault. Crossing his arms over his chest, his smile fell a little.

Either way, he relished from it. But sometimes, he was tired of it. Because he too, was human. Observing other human reactions and finding enjoyment from it, was it because he was expecting something more? Maybe he had once wished to find someone who had found a solution on their own. The resolve to figure out a better life for themselves as opposed to being forced into it. One that might, possibly, be able to look past their own selfish dependence on others, let go of their biased thoughts and reach out. What was he dreaming? Amidst the monotonous days he resolved to love them all in that person's place, loving, but not quite the same type as a normal human would. It's as if he had picked up a coin and let it roll, turning away and never looking at which side it had actually landed. Shrug.

So when his routine was abruptly interrupted, there was genuine surprise.

There seemed to be a small dispute going on amongst a rather distraught looking woman and two shifty men, both with bleached hair and more piercing then what was deemed normal even for girls.

"Oh ho, a fight," It was not said in a disapproving tone, but rather he chided happily from the sidelines, waiting to see if any passerby would stop to help her out. None did, or rather they pretended it wasn't even happening; shuffling by and avoiding them expertly as if they were a giant mob of one conscience, agreeing to flow on their own undisrupted lives. The observer was one of them, or even worse, watching and speculating the outcome of the scene.

So far it was going as cliché as it could, the two men blocking her path on either side with their bulky frames and probably hitting on her or blaming her for some nasty reason, planning to rob her of some cash. She looked frightened, clutching her purse close to herself with one arm, looking from one side to another as if pleading for help with her eyes. Still, no one concerned themselves with her. Eventually, they tried to grab her arms tightly, and it was revealed she was missing one, one of her lax sleeves folding powerlessly from their clutch. The brunette man watching from not too far, let out a sharp breath of exhaustion. Where was God?

As if there was some kind of fate, the wheel of life took a spin on its own, landing on a complicated outcome. It never really occurred to him to save her himself. He was no hero, let alone a nice person. It wasn't expected of him, but he wasn't the kind of man to live up to that kind of ideal foretold by someone else. Neither was he one to stand still for such a long period of time.

He was swift. Blurring lights, glaring signs, even the piercing sounds of vehicles merged together as a murky blob in the center of a palette. They never saw him coming, since he moved from one place to another like the Cheshire cat. Stepping steps to a never ending dance on the vibrant stage of cold concrete.

"Hello," he was right here. "What are you doing?" Then he was over there. "I'm just thinkiiing," Holding a hand over his puffed out chest, and in a really sarcastic tone with a half a chuckle he finished. "She doesn't like you guys that much."

When the both of them turned around to face the spectator with the nastiest scowl they could give, the brunette couldn't help but smirk some more. Easily provoked…weren't they. The outcome to the event will be different now that he was in the mix, but to think they'd move in such a predictable manner peeved him quite a bit. So he decided he would fast forward it to the conclusion for them. "Before you say anything like, oh please…" he rolled his eyes, suspending his hands into his pockets. "What do you want brat, or you wanna go, you should think about your future." Snip. Snap.

"What the hell are-"

"Am I talking about?" He produced his cell phone instantaneously from his pocket and there was a sound of a camera application snapping a picture as their belts fell apart from their sagging pants and both pooled onto the floor.

Of course, after that, they retreated. Just as planned.

"Uhm…thank you…" a timid voice came from the one handed girl, who was looking at him curiously with her golden brown eyes. Desperately, it seemed like, she searched him. Probably wondering if he was to be trusted. Most definitely not, but he had still saved her. "Why did you-"

"No reason," The raven haired male hopped off the sidewalk, and onto a bicycle stand, his shoulder against a bark of another decorative tree. "Maybe because I was bored. Plus, that arm kind of reminded me of something." He said the last part so bitterly that the girl flinched.

"O…Orihara Izaya…kun?"

He twitched at the mention of his name. Now that he looked carefully, she wasn't one of the crowd anymore. He wouldn't immediately recognize her since she didn't especially have any features that stood out, excluding her lack of half an arm. In fact that alone lead him to believe she was who he thought she was when it was revealed she knew his name. Now, he regretted ever going near her.

"Stupid bitch. What are you doing around here still?" He spat. He was shaking a little, but from anger or humiliation, he didn't know which. He was supposed to love all humans, he was supposed to be the one provoking them…he jumped off, breathed a little, and did his best to regain his composure.

"I…m sorry," she managed to stutter out, having her semi long black hair fall around her. Sorry, that's all she had to say to him, and he didn't look satisfied.

The brunette man looked at her with half infuriated, half amused eyes. She was just a human being after all. It was quite unexpected. All the emotions spun around him once and was stuffed back into a small box at the very, very edge of his conscience. He didn't need them all right now, and he was concentrated on what should happen next. Mental torture? Hiring kidnappers? What would her reactions be to knowing it was him who did it? She would probably expect that. He grimaced at the thought of all the cruelty that would yield the same results.

"I'll forgive you, Risa," He sighed, looking upward.

Her face flushed and golden-brown orbs…danced wavering, wavering… enchanted in the light of the city that switched from red to blue as quickly as Izaya moved. She seemed hopeful, as if something had been finally lifted from her shoulders. Left hand tight into a fist, she clutched it near her chest. "Truly?"

"Yes," The observer lied. From here on, his new game would begin.


End file.
